


This Love Is Organic

by RiotKid



Series: Putting Down Roots [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Derek "Nursey" Nurse is Unchill, Farmer's Market AU, M/M, NHL Nursey, NHL Player Derek Nurse, NHL Player Jack Zimmermann, PolyFrogs, a brief description of a character having a panic attack but its fine i promise!!, adding a third, like a tiny bit of angst but its okay!!!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 05:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13652148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiotKid/pseuds/RiotKid
Summary: In which Jack decides to start cooking, Nursey gets sent to the farmer's market, and the author ignores the growing seasons of basically all produce.An AU in which no one went to Samwell, Derek is in the NHL, and Chowder and Dex own a produce stand.





	This Love Is Organic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jamesiee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamesiee/gifts).



> Beta'd by tumblr user ssalogel, any remaining mistakes are mine. rated teen for swearing because i love a good f-bomb.
> 
> the prompt was for nhl!nursey and i hope i did him justice!!

By the time Derek reaches the NHL, most people have gotten used to the idea that gay people can play hockey.   
  
He remembers when The News broke during his senior year of high school, when Jack Zimmerman made history as the first NHL player to come out. He remembers being terrified, watching the Falconers' first game after the press release, waiting for a dirty check to take Jack down. He remembers the relief he felt when they won that game, and when other players made statements in solidarity and when a handful of other players came out as well.   
  
He remembers the relief, but he can't shake the fear.   
  
So, yeah, by the time Derek gets drafted, gay hockey players aren't quite the headline they once were, but there's still an unspoken challenge, a slightly raised bar, an infuriatingly smug whisper saying "come on, prove that guys like you belong here, prove that you can play."   
  
And Derek does his best to do just that.

  
_X_

  
He knew it would be difficult, being gay and biracial in the NHL, and nearly every reporter cares more about that than about how he's playing.   
  
It's no surprise, really, when the Falconers announce that he'll be living with Jack Zimmerman for his first season. Between their sexualities and anxiety, they've got a surprising amount in common, and it's clear that management is hoping for Jack to help him through the media's borderline-homophobic comments and the stress of playing professional hockey.   
  
What is a surprise, though, is just how different Jack is off-ice. He isn't the weird hockey robot everyone made him out to be; he loves hearing Derek ramble about poetry and often rambles right back about history. His diet, however, isn't as pleasantly surprising. Jack seems to subsist on a steady diet of protein shakes, PB&J, and chicken, prepared in a million different ways.

 

Derek tolerates it, mostly because he doesn't know how to cook, and while the food is almost criminally bland, Jack makes sure it fits their meal plans and Derek's dietary restrictions.

 

_X_

 

Derek is idly doodling in the margins of his journal as he wrestles with a metaphor, when Jack looks up from his laptop and asks him something.

 

Derek freezes in the middle of a sketch of a falcon and a penguin facing off. “What?”

 

“I asked if you'd ever been to the farmers market,” Jack says, eyebrows furrowing as he copies something from his screen to a notepad.

 

Derek thinks for a moment before shaking his head. “Haven't had a reason to. Why?”

 

Jack lights up. “I found this cooking show on YouTube,” he turns his laptop around so Derek can see. “And he's got a recipe for peach chutney that I think’ll go really well with steak or grilled chicken. At least, the YouTube guy says it will.”

 

On the screen, a short man with curly blond hair is flitting back and forth, waving his hands as he talks.

 

Derek hums noncommittally. “And we can't get that stuff at the store?”

 

Jack turns his computer back around to squint at the video. “I mean, we could? But he says fresh is best, and then he went on a tangent about buying local.”

 

Derek studies his captain for a long moment. Jack looks  _ invested  _ in a way he usually only is about hockey and history, and he's blushing a little, like he's embarrassed to be this interested in a YouTube channel.

 

Then it clicks and Derek feels a grin spread across his face. “You think the YouTube chef is cute, don't you?”

 

Jack's blush deepens. “No! I- ya know, I just.”

 

Derek laughs, and immediately gets hit by a projectile pillow.

 

“Shut up,” Jack grouches, trying and failing to stay serious. “Maybe I wanna try new things!”

 

“Yeah, like short blond chefs?”

 

This time, Derek catches the pillow before it hits him.

 

_X_

 

The next day, Jack gets roped into a last minute interview after practice, and Derek regrets  _ everything _ .

 

The farmers market is sprawled out in front of him, cheerfully loud and filled with bright colors and about half the population of Providence.

 

He looks down at the crumpled list in his hand and sighs.

 

_ Well _ , he thinks grimly.  _ Once more unto the breach. _

 

And with that, he tugs his hat more securely onto his head, and plunges himself into the sensory chaos of the local market.

 

He wanders aimlessly for a while, eyes wide, overwhelmed by the sheer number of options.

 

Finally, he spots a cheery sign proclaiming, “peaches!” followed by a skillfully rendered drawing of the peach emoji.

 

Derek snorts at the drawing as he makes a beeline for the stand, stopping in front of it to consult his list. Jack had helpfully written out the entire ingredients list, measurements and all, which would've been great, if Derek knew how many peaches were in a cup. Or how to tell if one was ripe. It was probably the softer ones, right? But what if they were too ripe? And was he supposed to get white peaches or yellow ones? Was there a difference? Wait, maybe he should--

 

“Hi, can I help you?”

 

Derek jumps, jerking his head up to find a redheaded man looking at him expectantly. A pretty redheaded man, with freckles like paint splatters and arms to rival any of the Falcs, and-- Derek's been staring at him for too long.

 

“I need, uh,” he glances back down at the list. “Peaches?”

 

The redhead looks at him, then the bins of fruit between them, then back at him, all the while looking unimpressed. He turns around, giving Derek another good look at the way his t-shirt clings to his broad shoulders and--

 

“Yo, Chow?”

 

On the other side of the stand, another tall, handsome guy pops up from rummaging through a cooler.

 

“Yeah?” he asks, wiping his hands down the front of his jeans and  _ god  _ Derek just had to choose the one produce stand run by stupidly hot guys his age instead of old white people, didn't he?

 

The redhead nods toward Derek, and he almost misses the motion in favor of the knowing smirk the other guy- Chow- gives him.

 

Chow makes his way over, and the redhead leaves to talk to a little old lady, who's picking through baskets of strawberries.

 

“Hey, what's up,” Chow smiles at him, and Derek feels his heart do something funny.

 

“I'm, uh,” Derek feels his face flush and prays it doesn't show. “I need five cups of peaches? But I don't know what kind or how many I should get? Or anything else about peaches?”

 

Chow laughs, and the knot of anxiety in Derek's stomach loosens a little.

 

“What are you making?” he asks, leaning across the table to peer at Derek's shopping list, and almost hitting him in the face with the brim of his backwards baseball cap in the process.

 

“Peach chutney,” Derek tells the Sharks logo.

 

Chow straightens up quickly, and Derek barely dodges the hat.

 

“Is this the recipe from Baking Bits? On YouTube?”

 

“Maybe?” Derek scratches the back of his neck. “My roommate found it. It was on YouTube, though.”

 

Chow grins even wider and bounces a bit on his toes. “Oh, man, you have to come back and tell me if it's any good! I've been dying to try it but Dex,” he jerks a thumb towards the redhead, “says we shouldn't eat what we can sell.”

 

He rolls his eyes fondly, and Derek finds it hard not to smile back at him.

 

“So that's Dex?” he asks before he can stop himself.

 

“Yeah! Well, his name's Will, but we played together in college and he got the nickname Dex and it's been like that ever since.”

 

List entirely forgotten, Derek leans against the table, careful not to knock any fruit to the ground. “That's cool, what'd you play?”

 

Chow shrugs. “We were on the hockey team but it was mostly just for fun.”

 

Derek grins. “No shit? I play hockey too!”

 

Chow smirks at him, eyes sparkling. “Yeah, I know, Mr. Derek Nurse. I don't live under a rock.”

 

Derek's jaw drops and Chow laughs again. “C'mon, it's not like the Falcs are a small time team,” Chow chides. “You're practically a celebrity.”

 

“I am not,” Derek protests, but Chow waves him off.

 

“You totally are. Now,” Chow leans in close enough for Derek to smell the mix of sunshine and strawberries clinging to his skin. “Don't tell him I told you this, but you're one of Dex's favorite players.”

 

Derek's eyes widen, probably comically, from the way Chow reacts. “He, uh. Really?”

 

Chow nods.

 

Derek forces himself to shake off the surprise and turn up the charm. “What about you?”

 

Chow drags his eyes slowly down Derek's body before meeting his gaze. “You're alright,” he teases, snatching the forgotten list from Derek's hand and walking off, leaving Derek to scramble after him as he starts piling ingredients in a shallow cardboard box.

 

Derek offers to sign something for them as he leaves, twenty minutes later, but Chow-- “call me Chris, or Chowder, all my friends do”--  _ Chris  _ waves him off, saying, “you can sign something when you come tell me how that chutney turned out, okay?”

 

And Derek is so dazed by his smile that he can't help but agree.

 

_X_

 

The chutney turns out to be fucking delicious and Derek ends up scooping most of the leftovers into a cute little jar and hiding them from Jack.

 

It's totally normal to take homemade food to a hot guy you met once. It's fine.

 

Jack, fortunately, is too busy scouring the blonde guy’s channel for healthy-ish recipes to notice.

 

When he finally finds one, a grilled corn salad with chili powder and lime, Derek volunteers to go back to the farmers market in an entirely calm and collected way that doesn't involve almost falling off the couch.

 

This time, he takes a couple of reusable bags to reduce his carbon footprint or whatever, and because last time, the plastic ones had survived until he'd gotten home and then spontaneously freed half of the peaches to roll around the kitchen.

 

He's also a bit more prepared for the crowds and he even remembers where Chris and Dex’s stand was, so he's feeling pretty confident.

 

Dex greets him with a customer service smile and a, “hey, good to see you again.”

 

Derek offers a genuine smile in return, and if he hadn't been looking, he would've missed Dex’s ears turning pink.

 

“You, uh, you want me to get Chowder?” Dex gestures towards where Chris is taking advantage of a momentary lull to scribble in a battered notebook.

 

“Nah,” Derek shakes his head. “He looks busy.”

 

Dex snorts. “It's just inventory, dude. We'll have to go over it at the end if the day anyway.”

 

“No, really, it's chill.” Derek raises a mischievous eyebrow. “Unless you don't think you can help me.”

 

He huffs, running a hand through his curls and wow the red really does look good in the sun, like molten gold or something. “Whatcha got for me, Nurse?”

 

Derek suppresses a grin and hands his list over. 

 

Dex considers it for a few seconds before letting out a surprised laugh. “Dude, you just wrote 'ears of corn’. How many do you need?”

 

Derek shrugs. “We're making, like, some kind of grilled corn salad?”

 

Dex laughs again, but it sounds almost fond this time. Or it would if they hadn't just met and if Dex wasn't just being nice to him because it was his job.

 

“How many people are you serving?”

 

“Just two,” Derek says, then pauses consideringly. “But we're both hockey players, so. Four?”

 

Dex nods, still absently staring at the list.

 

“You'll probably want six ears of corn,” he says, handing the paper back to Derek, already turning to grab a bag. “And you need tomatoes too, right?”

 

“Yeah! Oh, hey,” Derek rummages in his backpack to find one of his bags. “I brought my own.”

 

Dex looks at the bag in Derek's outstretched hand, then the proud smile on his face, before giving him a small half smile and taking the bag.

 

“Alright, so, to tell if corn on the cob is ripe,” Dex starts, clearly on his element, and Derek zones out trying to count his freckles.

 

“Got it?”

 

Derek startles a little, refocusing on Dex's face to find him waiting expectantly.

 

Dex must recognize his confusion, because he sighs good-naturedly. “You didn't catch a word of that did you?”

 

“I totally did!” Derek starts to defend himself, but wilts a little under Dex's knowing stare. “You were talking about corn?”

 

“I guess I should be glad you weren't paying attention,” Dex muses, loading the corn into the bag. “I mean, it means you'll have to keep buying from us, 'cause none of the other vendors offer crash courses in cooking.”

 

Derek gasps in mock outrage. “Admit it, William, you'd miss my beautiful face. Look,” he grins widely to show his teeth. “I've still got all my originals!”

 

Dex rolls his eyes. “Your originals were your baby teeth, and I'm pretty sure you don't have those anymore. Also, that's not impressive to anyone who isn't an NHL player.”

 

“Well,” Derek tries to lean on the table next to him and nearly falls over. “Luckily for us, I am.”

 

“And just as graceful off the ice, I see.” Dex betrays his deadpan tone with another shy smile, and Derek wonders if he's always so stingy with his happiness. Either way, he's a strangely good counterbalance to Chowder, who gives out smiles like they're going out of fashion.

 

He follows Dex over to the bins of tomatoes, and nods along while he talks about the different kinds they grow and how to tell them apart.

 

He zones out again, staring at Dex's calloused hands as they feel their way across the produce, testing the ripeness with gentle squeezes. This time he's startled out of his reverie by Chris propping an elbow on his shoulder to lean on him.

 

“What're you making today, Nursey?” Chowder grins sunnily up at him, and Derek basks in the warmth of his smile and his body pressed alongside him.

 

“I’m not making anything,” he smiles bashfully. “I’m a bit of a disaster in the kitchen. But my roommate found a recipe for a grilled corn salad, so he sent me to track down the ingredients.”

 

Chris nods. “How'd the chutney turn out?” he turns to Dex, explaining, “Derek and his roommate made that peach chutney I was telling you about, the one from Baking Bits.”

 

Will rolls his eyes fondly. “I told you we could make it closer to the end of the season, when demand goes down.”

 

Chowder puts on an exaggerated pout, swooning against Derek. “That may as well be an eternity away.”

 

Derek laughs and shrugs him off, feeling oddly voyeuristic. “Oh! That reminds me.” He digs through his bag to produce the jar of leftovers. “I, uh,” he shoves it into Chowder's hands and prays that his complexion hides his blush. “I thought you guys might like to try some.”

 

Chowder's grin returns in full force, and Derek has to look away. Instead, his gaze settles on Dex, who's watching him back, a look of appraisal in his golden eyes.

 

Dex maintains eye contact for a moment, two moments, before glancing back down to the tomatoes in his hand. He places them in Derek's bag, movements gentle and precise, and hands the bag to Derek.

 

Their hands brush, and Derek curses himself for imagining a spark of electricity in the contact.

 

“Chowder can ring you up over there,” Dex points to the table Chris'd been doing inventory at earlier.

 

“Awesome, thanks,” Derek slaps on his most charming smile and preens when Dex flushes a pretty pink.

 

He catches himself watching Chowder’s hands as he fills out a receipt, and really, he didn’t have a fixation on strong-yet-gentle capable hands before, honest.

 

He hands Chowder a twenty and almost laughs when he has to open a fanny pack to get change.

 

Derek gets his change and fist-bumps Chris, who bids him goodbye with a, “hey, don’t forget to come back and tell us how it goes, okay?”

 

Dex waves at him distractedly from where he’s extolling the virtues of fresh over frozen to a woman who looks absolutely dumbstruck by his combination of muscles and enthusiasm and. Yeah. Derek can relate.

He gets home mostly on autopilot, shoves the bag into Jack’s hands, and faceplants on the sofa.

 

Somewhere behind him, Jack snorts. “You good, Nurse?”

 

Derek rolls over so he can fling an arm across his eyes. “I’m so gay. So tragically gay.”

 

Jack laughs at him and Derek hears him moving around in the kitchen, unpacking the reusable tote and grinning maniacally at his bounty or whatever he does when he’s cooking.

 

“Hey, Nurse,” Jack calls from the other room, sounding confused. “What’s this?”

 

Derek drags himself into the kitchen, flopping into one of the bar stools. “What’s what, Zimmermann?”

 

Jack holds up the receipt from the market.

 

“Okay, so when you buy something, they give you a receipt--” Derek’s cut off by Jack rolling his eyes and sliding the scrap of paper across the counter. He points at a double line of numbers near the bottom.

 

Two sets of ten digits. 

 

Neatly labeled with the names Dex and Chowder.

 

“Holy shit,” Derek whispers, eyes wide.

 

Jack looks like he’s trying not to laugh. “Getting numbers at the farmer’s market? Maybe you do have game.”

 

“Fuck you,” Derek shoots back, still staring at the paper. “I have plenty of game. The best game.”

 

Jack leans his elbows on the counter, looking for all the world like a nosey older sibling. “So, is this why you were so eager to go to the market?”

 

“ _ Maybe _ ,” Derek draws out the word as he scrambles to type the numbers into his phone. “They run a produce stand and like hockey and they’re hot.”

 

“Which one?”

 

Derek levels him with a stare that he hopes conveys how well and truly fucked he is. “ _ Both of them. _ ”

 

He isn’t surprised when Jack starts laughing at him.

 

_X_

 

The Falcs spend the next week on the road, and Derek barely finds the time to keep up with texting Chowder and Dex.

Dex mostly Snapchats him pictures from their greenhouses, while Chowder sends him updates on everything from the rabbit he saw this morning to who’s winning their Wii Sports tournament.

Derek’s favorite messages are the ones from the farmer’s market, which mostly consist of Dex’s witty criticisms of people’s outfits, and Chowder’s stealth photos of Dex trying to keep his cool while someone incorrectly explains organics to him. Occasionally, Dex tries to shame Chowder for stealing bits of produce for snacks, but as far as Derek can tell, Chowder has yet to feel remorseful.

The Falconers beat the Sharks, 3-2, and he gets a text from Chowder saying, “never speak to me again” immediately followed by one from Dex that says “don’t listen to Chris he’ll forgive you by tomorrow”.

The team won’t stop chirping him for smiling at his phone every five minutes, but it’s a small price to pay, and it’s so  _ easy  _ to pretend he’ll be going home to both of them at the end of the trip.

Their last game of the roadie is against the Schooners and it’s a total bloodbath. Jack gets sent to the sin bin for fighting in the second, and Derek gets checked into the boards so hard he can’t breathe.

They lose 4-0, and Derek goes home bruised to hell and feeling absolutely useless. He collapses into bed without checking his phone.

_X_

He wakes up the next day around noon, with a huge swathe of mottled purple and red across his side, feeling like he’s got a full-body hangover.

When Derek stumbles out of his room, Jack winces in sympathy and offers him a sandwich.

They eat in silence and Derek struggles to find the energy to chew.

Finally, Jack stands collecting their empty plates and says, apropos of nothing, “I was thinking of trying to make jam. Would you mind going to the market?”

Derek shrugs, but gets dressed and takes the list when Jack holds it out.

The market is about as crowded as it normally is, but it feels like so much more, and every person he bumps into manages to elbow him directly in his bruised ribs. By the time the crowd parts enough for him to see their stand-- today’s sign is a picture of an ear of corn with a peppy voice bubble proclaiming ‘corny jokes sold here!’-- his breathing is shallow and he can feel a headache building behind his eyes.

He’s greeted by the sight of Dex slouched against Chris’ shoulder, looking jarringly defeated. As he watches, Chowder gently brushes Dex’s hair off his forehead and tilts his chin up to make eye contact as he says something, and  _ fuck _ , then Chowder’s kissing him like it’s as easy and familiar as breathing, and Derek  _ can’t _ , he just can’t.

He turns around, battling his way back to his car, barely breathing and if his vision is blurry, that’s no one’s business but his own.

_X_

Somehow, he makes it home without crashing, and he barely registers the shock on Jack’s face when he slams through the door and slaps the shopping list back down on the counter.

He clatters through the living room and up the stairs, slamming his door behind him, and ignoring Jack’s worried shouts of  _ “Nurse? Derek? Derek, what happened?” _ .

He makes it to his bed before his knees give out and he sinks to the floor, leaning against it. His hands are shaking and his chest is tight, there’s no room for air, he can’t breathe and fuck.  _ Fuck _ .

Derek feels a hand on his back, and flinches. Jack. He hadn’t even heard the door open.

And. And Jack’s talking, quiet and rhythmic, and Derek’s hand is against his chest and Jack is telling him to breathe, but that’s easier said than done and--

“Derek,” Jack’s using his captain voice. “Derek. Take a deep breath.”

Derek manages a shuddering gasp, and-- “good, that’s good,” Jack says. “Do it again.”

So he does. Derek has no idea how long they sit on the floor, Jack’s hand rubbing soothing circles into his back as Derek slowly remembers how his lungs work.

Finally, he slumps against the bed frame, pulse gradually slowing back down.

“There you go,” Jack whispers. “I’m gonna get you some water, okay?”

Derek manages to nod, and Jack’s gone. He’s back a moment later with a glass, and Derek’s never been so glad to see a straw in his life, because he doesn’t know if he’d be able to keep his hands steady enough to drink.

Jack holds the glass for him, and Derek does his best not to feel embarrassed.

“You wanna tell me what happened?” Jack asks. “Do you want me to call anyone for you?”

Derek considers it, thinks about calling his therapist or his sister and explaining the situation, and shakes his head vehemently.

“No, I can, um, I can tell you, if that’s okay?”

Jack settles next to him, holding out an arm, and Derek leans into him gratefully. Panic attacks always leave him drained and needing an anchor.

Jack waits quietly, letting him assemble his words without pressure.

“So I told you about Dex and Chowder, right?” He stumbles over their names, but Jack doesn’t comment, just nods agreeably.

“So, I went today, and, like. I was already feeling shitty ‘cause of my ribs and the loss and everything? And the market was just, like, really loud and crowded, and--” he breaks off to take another shuddering breath, and Jack resumes rubbing circles on his back. “And when I finally got to their stand, they were. They were kissing? And I know I don’t have a right to be upset, ‘cause neither of them ever said they were interested in me? But I just. I thought there was something there, ya know?”

Jack hums thoughtfully.

“And maybe I shouldn’t have tried flirting with either of them, ‘cause it’s their place of work, and there’s like, a power imbalance, but I just.”

The silence stretches around them.

Finally, after a few minutes, Jack speaks. “I get that, about not hitting on them when they can’t shut you down, but didn’t they give you their numbers? WIthout you asking? I think that means something.”

Derek shakes his head against Jack’s shoulder. “They probably just wanted to be friends and I read it wrong, and, fuck, what if I made them uncomfortable?”

“I think you need to give them a bit more credit, Nurse. They didn’t have to give you their numbers, and they didn’t have to text you back if you crossed a line or something.”   
  
Derek considers it for a minute and grudgingly nods. “But what if--”   
  
“Nursey,” Jack interrupts. “You can’t beat yourself up over this, okay? Even if you misread the situation, they had plenty of chances to speak up and correct you. If there’s blame to be had, there’s blame to share, okay?”

Derek nods again, and yawns. Jack cracks a smile.

“How about we order pizza, and you can put pineapple on it, and we watch that movie you like, the one about Maya Angelou?”

“What about the nutritionists?” Derek tips his head back to look at Jack’s face, searching for traces of irritation or pity, and finding nothing but warmth and worry.

Jack smiles. “Fuck the nutritionists. This is a pizza emergency.”

Derek smiles back, and he can tell it’s probably a sad, fragile thing, but it’s real, and that’s all that matters.

Jack pats his shoulder. “If you wanna talk more about this later, we can, but we don’t have to, okay?”

“Yeah,” Derek says, sitting up. “Yeah, okay.”

_X_

The next week is weird. Jack must’ve told the team something, because they all give him space and stop asking about why he keeps checking his phone.

Chris and Dex still text him, but he can’t bring himself to respond, guilt still burning in his gut when he sees their names. Gradually, the texts peter out.

It feels like a bad breakup, and he hadn’t even gotten to date either of them first.

One night he gets tipsy with Jack-- a rare occurrence-- and ends up with his head hanging off the couch, rambling about Chowder’s shoulders- “I swear he must’ve been a goalie, he’s so  _ broad _ ” - and Dex’s rare smiles- “like, you gotta earn them, ya know? But when you do?  _ Wow _ .”- and Jack nods along and makes questioning noises at the right parts.

Derek ends up falling asleep on the living room floor, and when he wakes up, Jack is gone, probably on one of his morning runs.

Derek groans at the thought of going on a run while hungover, and rolls onto his back to get his face off the floor.

The sunlight sneaking through the curtains is too bright, and Derek slings an arm across his face.

He’s dozing in and out of consciousness when he hears the front door creak open.

“Don’t you dare, Jack,” he calls as loudly as he can manage. “Just leave me here to die.”

“I dunno if I wanna do that,” a familiar voice says, smile evident in the words, and wait.  _ Wait _ .

Derek sits up so fast he hits his head on the coffee table.

He falls back onto one elbow, rubbing the knot on his head as he squints up at. Dex? And Chowder?

“I’m hallucinating,” he whispers to himself.

Hallucination-Dex laughs and that’s proof, because real-Dex would never sound that fond of him.

Hallucination-Chowder sits down next to him, using their clasped hands to tug hallucination-Dex to the floor with him.

“So, we heard a rumour,” Dex starts, and, fuck, even as a hallucination, Derek doesn’t want to hear them try to let him down easy. Chowder elbows Dex in the side.

“Jack Zimmermann came to the market today,” he says, all in a rush, and wait. What?

Derek’s confusion must show, because Dex makes a worried noise and reaches for him. “Are you okay? How hard did you hit your head?”

Warm, calloused fingers explore the lump on his forehead almost clinically, before smoothing across his cheeks.

“What?”

Dex tips his face up to stare into his eyes and that’s. Weird.

“If you have a concussion, your captain is going to kill us and we’ll never get this straightened out,” Dex tells him seriously.

“Heh, straight,” Chris chimes in, earning himself a playful glare from Dex.

Derek bats his hands away and sits up all the way. “Get  _ what  _ straightened out?” he asks irritably.

Dex huffs at him and earns another elbow to the ribs.

“We hadn’t heard from you in a while, and we got kind of worried,” Chowder tells him. “And then--”

“And  _ then _ ,” Dex breaks in. “The captain of the fucking Providence Falconers shows up at our produce stand and starts lecturing us about leading you on and breaking your heart and--”

“Shit,” Derek groans, dropping his face into his hands. “I’m so sorry he did that, I was gonna get over it, I swear.”

“Get over what?” Dex asks, and he hears them have a whispered argument, which culminates in, “I want to hear him  _ say  _ it, Christopher, I want to know we’re on the same page,” and then Dex repeats, “Get over  _ what _ ?”

“I just,” Derek starts. “You were both so nice and you look like,” he flaps a hand at them. “Like  _ that _ , and I had a crush, okay? And then I saw you, like, kissing and. Whatever, I said I’d get over it, I’m sorry.”

His confession hangs in the air and Derek wants to die, or just slip through the floor, or something, anything and--

“What if,” Chowder takes a deep breath. “What if we don’t want you to?”

Derek’s arms drop and he stares at them. “What?”

“You keep saying that,” Dex muses, but he looks like he’s trying not to smile. Derek tries to glare at him, and he’s not sure how successful he is. “What if, Derek Malik Nurse, we wanted to date you too?”

“That would, uh,” Derek goggles at both of them for a few seconds. “That’d be chill?”

Chowder grins, and it’s just as bright and wonderful and Derek remembers and he can’t help but smile back.

Dex reaches toward him again, and Derek lets Dex pull him in so he’s leaning against Dex’s shoulder. “Just chill,” Dex huffs. “Real enthusiastic there, Nurse.”

Derek grins up at him. “I don’t know,  _ William _ , you don’t seem very enthusiastic for someone who’s dating his favorite NHL player.”

Dex whirls to glare at Chris, who’s laughing so hard he’s fallen over. “That was a  _ secret _ , you  _ asshole _ .”

Derek feels his smile widen, and wow, chill out, his face is starting to feel sore. “Hey, Dex. How would you like to kiss your favorite NHL player?”

Dex immediately turns bright red and Derek laughs. He leans slowly into Dex’s space, waiting for him to pull back, or tell him to stop, but Dex surprises him by meeting him halfway, pressing their mouths together so gently it steals the breath from Derek’s lungs and wow,  _ yeah _ , he doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to this.

Chris clears his throat, and Derek breaks the kiss to look over at him.

Chowder takes his face in both hands, and kisses him, just as slow and methodical as Dex and he tastes like stolen strawberries, and Derek smiles helplessly against Chris’ mouth.

He pulls back far enough to lean his forehead against Chris’ and ask, breathlessly, “are we doing this? The three of us?”

They smile at him and he’s full of so much happiness and warmth he might just become the sun.

“Yeah,” Chowder says, his voice steeped in sunshine. “Yeah, I think we are.”

There’s a knock on the front door. “Hey, can I come in yet?” Jack calls.

**Author's Note:**

> please please please tell me what you think!! this is my first check please fic Ever so im DYING for feedback


End file.
